


You Found Me

by wingedcatninja



Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Challenge fic, Character Death, Chuck is a dick, Dean x Reader, F/M, Language, Mummybear, Reader Insert, SPN Dean Bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: Chuck finally answers Dean's prayers. It doesn't go as expected. Or maybe it does?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387618
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	You Found Me

**Author's Note:**

> For SPN Dean Bingo. Also for @mummybear Chelsea’s 1.5k Followers Celebration where I chose the song, You Found Me by The Fray. I know this doesn't exactly follow the song lyrics, but this was what I saw in my mind when I listened to the song.  
> It takes place in season 15. Canon divergent. I apologize for nothing.
> 
> Square Filled (@spndeanbingo): Death

The barricaded door shook under the constant onslaught from the other side. Dean was too tired to care. The blood covering his hands was cooling, leaving them feeling sticky. Dean registered the feeling only peripherally, and incongruously. You felt light in his arms, even while his body ached. He had expended all the emotion he could muster. Now he just waited for the inevitable.

“Hey, Dean.” The familiar soft voice sounded from right in front of him. 

Dean slowly lifted his head, his green eyes cold and empty when they took in the slight figure. A flutter of contempt, of anger, stirred inside him but was quickly overcome by the prevailing grief.

Chuck wisely chose to keep his distance. 

“I’m sorry about this, Dean. I really am. But you went off-script, and I had to step in. This was never how the story was supposed to end.” The soft tone of pity was a slap in the face.

Dean said nothing. Sprawled on the dusty floor, he held you, his hands still pressing against the wound in your gut even though the blood had stopped pumping. The muscle in his jaw ticked; the mossy green of his eyes almost black with grief.

“You can fix her.” The words were pressed out through clenched teeth, almost against his will.

“I can,” Chuck agreed. “But I’m not going to.”

Dean shuddered when another wave of grief rolled through him. He knew. He just had not wanted to admit it to himself. You had stopped breathing even before the monsters caught up. Your blood was cold. You were gone.

Eyes blazing, Dean looked up at Chuck.

“Fuck you, Chuck. Fuck you, and your story. We’re not your toys, there for your amusement, you dick.” The words grated, ground out through clenched teeth, in a voice hoarse with anger.

“Aren’t you, though?” Chuck replied, cocking his head. The little smile at the corners of his mouth made Dean’s rage flare to life. “I mean, I created you. This,” he waved his hand vaguely as if to encompass everything around them, “it’s all my creation, my story. Free will is an illusion, Dean, you have to know that by now. Especially for you and your brother.”

Slowly, painfully, Dean gently let your body slide to the floor. He kissed you one last time, then straightened. His lips pressed together tightly, to hold in the groan of pain. Sheer willpower and rage were the only things fueling him at this point, but it was enough to get him to his feet, facing Chuck.

“So this is how the story ends? Everyone dies?” Dean faced Chuck, his eyes blazing with fury.

“No, Dean. Just her. You’ll be fine. Sam is fine too, by the way, not that you asked,” Chuck responded, his hands still in his pockets.

“Why?” The single word hung in the air, like a boulder that should crush the smaller man.

“She’s not part of this story,” Chuck said as if that should already be obvious.

“Screw your story. She-,” Dean’s voice broke. He pressed his left hand, still covered with your blood, against the wound in his side and took a deep ragged breath before he was able to go on. “She was part of my story, damn you. If you didn’t want her in my life, why didn’t you step in sooner? Why did she have to die!? WHY!?”

Chuck cocked his head and looked at Dean as if he was a new and intriguing specimen. 

“Well, at first I enjoyed watching you two together. But then she became a...a spanner in the works. So I had to write her out,” he explained calmly. “Besides, her death served another purpose, Dean.” Chuck smiled benevolently. “It broke you.” 

Dean trembled from holding himself upright. He trembled with rage, with pain, with the effort of not launching himself at Chuck in a futile attempt to kill him. He watched the celestial look off into the distance, listening.

“Sam and Castiel will be here soon. They’re working their way through the mob as we speak,” Chuck informed Dean, seemingly unaware of the hunter’s emotions. Or indifferent to them. 

Dean blinked, and Chuck was gone. Once more, he was alone with you in the dusty room. Alone with your body. A broken sigh shook him and he slid back down until he was sitting next to you. He realized he was crying only when he saw the dark stains of his tears where they fell on your jacket. Distantly, he heard the sounds of fighting and he hoped they made it to him soon, or he would be joining you. That would fuck up Chuck’s story. The thought made him smile grimly. His dirty, bloody hand cupped your face, your skin cold against his. Silently, he swore to you that he would defeat God or die trying. Chuck may be omnipotent, but he was wrong about one thing. Your death did not break Dean. It gave him another reason to fight.

The sounds of fighting on the other side of the barricaded door were getting louder. Then they were fading. Dean’s vision darkened. The last thing he saw was your face, peaceful now, in death.


End file.
